So I Met This Girl
by Serenitychan13
Summary: Spencer Reid turns back up at the office after what seems to be a coffee break from Hell. The team wants to know what's going on and they want to know NOW. It all started when he met this girl...


_**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of the characters on the show. I own any characters who are not on the show. Also, if you want witty disclaimers, you may want to check some of my other fics.**_

_**Author's Note: Thank you so much to my best friend/sister for turning me on to this amazing show!**_

So I Met This Girl

It had been an interesting lunch/coffee… mostly coffee break to say the very least. Black dog hair stuck to every inch of his clothing and he sported a soggy coffee stain that spanned close to the width of his chest. Oh damn, it was on his trousers too. He had heard the girls in the office, Garcia in particular, talking about the "walk of shame" and suddenly knew how they felt. The eyes of about three-quarters of the team fixed solidly on him. Had he taken Evasive Tactics 101?

"Come on, man!" Morgan pressed, causing Spencer Reid's cheeks to deepen from magenta to full-on eggplant. "What just happened?"

Okay, it was not humanly possible for one's brain to escape via the sweat oozing out of one's sebaceous glands, Reid reminded himself. But it certainly seemed that, at the moment, he wished it were possible. He gulped and scratched the back of his neck, casting about for something to buy some time. His mouth had been dry for quite some time now. The coffee stain on the front of his sweater-vest felt colder and soggier than it had two seconds ago.

"Wait, did something happen?" JJ piped in, looking up from the three green file folders in front of her. She had this _look _on her face like she knew something the rest of them didn't know. Oh wait, Prentiss had the same expression.

"I went to that new coffee place," Reid said flatly. More expectant expressions greeted him. Morgan's right eyebrow went up. "It's the one over in the park, with the outdoor verandah?"

"Right, we know where it is," JJ answered, with the air of explaining something to baby Henry. "So how did you get covered in coffee and… why do you smell like a dog?"

JJ wrinkled her nose at her new olfactory discovery. Prentiss held hers – she'd never quite been a smelly-dog person. At this point, even Hotch had looked up from the jumble of graphic, bloody photos in front of him. Reid had no data to back this up, but he could swear he felt just like a Jerry surrounded by Toms. His jaw worked soundlessly and his eyes doubled in width. High-heeled feet hurried down the linoleum hallway and Reid smelled Clinique Happy.

"Okay! It took all my awesomeness, but I got the…" Garcia's voice stopped as abruptly as she did, clutching a wad of papers in one hand. "Did Pretty Boy finally blow up the coffee pot?"

Reid had become reasonably sure that every capillary in his face had filled to it maximum capacity.

"I actually went out for my lunch break today!" he said hotly, before anyone could attempt to explain it for him. "And since it seems to be the most interesting thing happening today, I was just about to tell everyone about it!"

Penelope Garcia lowered her sparkly pink spectacle frames and surveyed the youngest member of the BAU team.

"You know you're purple, right?" she asked calmly.

Hotch sighed irritably – obviously they weren't getting anything productive accomplished until the children got their story. Even Rossi, though he pretended to keep reading his briefing file, looked up at Reid with some expectation. Reid looked as though he wanted to melt into the floor and burble away.

"Start at the beginning, Pretty Boy," commanded Morgan. He'd settled down in a chair, cracking open a Coca-Cola. "You're not getting let off the hook."

Reid stared at Hotch, still looking for some sort of out – the honcho just rolled his eyes.

"You may as well get this over with so we can get on with our day."

Well, that was that.

"So, I went to the Espresso Hut-" Reid started, wanting to get this over with as soon as he possibly could.

"That place with the tiki theme!" Garcia interrupted excitedly – of course they weren't going to make this easy. "They just opened last week!"

Reid nodded, wishing not to acknowledge the interruption.

"It has an outdoor verandah and I prefer to read in natural light," he continued, his hand tightening unconsciously on his brown leather satchel. "And I'd heard that they have a better espresso than any Starbucks in the area-"

"And we get it, you're a caffeine addict." Morgan waved his hand like he would to break up a gnat cloud. "Get to why you're soaked in coffee and stink like a kennel!"

"I would have been late if I'd gone home to change!" Reid exclaimed, face purpling deeply again. Damn, it had just started to go down too! He sighed and decided to start at the beginning…

* * *

><p>It was a completely gorgeous, perfect, beautiful day. Big, fluffy white clouds against a cornflower blue sky made the sunlight just that much more perfect. And Spencer Reid was ready to kill the next person who looked cross-eyed at him. He suspected someone, likely Morgan, might have switched the office pot to decaf as some sort of mad practical joke. Either that or he was so far gone that regular coffee didn't touch his addiction anymore. He stalked up the sidewalk from the bus stop, radiating the same "I hate everybody" vibe as your average wet cat.<p>

Reaching one hand out, he managed to restrain himself from wrenching and throwing the door open. Stepping inside, he managed to miss the sign on the door establishing The Espresso Hut as a pet-friendly establishment. A loud, colorful, borderline-obnoxious tiki-hut theme smacked him in the face. If it weren't for the smell that went straight to his little caffeine-addict heart, he would have run away screaming. Cautiously wiping his shoes on the welcome mat, he took a few more steps in and several employees shouted a gleeful "Welcome to the Espresso Hut!" He flinched at the noise, mentally commenting that this place better serve 5-star quality stuff if they wanted his repeat business.

"Welcome to the Espresso Hut, sir!" chirped the barista. He was a tall, lanky fellow – tall enough to look Spencer in the eyes – with a star tattoo on his neck and seemingly more earrings than ears. "What can we get in the works for ya?"

Spencer tried very hard not to flinch at the man's high-pitched voice and forced his face into a smile that probably made him look psychotic.

"I think I'd like the…" His eyes scanned the tiki-themed menu, looking for the highest caffeine content available. "… Hawai'ian-Slash-Mayan Volcano Mocha – how many shots of espresso come in that?"

His hand wanted to inch toward his gun – the barista's answer may have made the difference between a decent lunch break and a murderous rampage.

"As many as you want!" the barista exclaimed happily. "As a matter of fact, if you order the medium and get about six shots of espresso – it comes with three – I can just put it in a large cup for you at no extra charge! Do you want whipped cream on that?"

This fellow brought to life the phrase "talking a mile a minute" and for a moment, Spencer just looked rather dazzled.

"Yes, I think I'll have that!" he replied, a bit more enthusiastically than he might have normally. His cheeks turned pink as the barista raised a hopeful eyebrow. "And… I think I'll enjoy it out on the verandah!"

A momentary pout stole over the barista's face, but he gave the obligatory "hope you enjoy, sir – that'll be $4.05" and Spencer handed over a crisp fiver. The barista smiled again as the tall, skinny man dropped the ninety-five cents into the tiki head acting as a tip cup and promised to bring the drink out to him. Irritation melting away at the prospect of feeding his addiction, Spencer retreated to the verandah. The sunlight seemed to spill over the clouds as decadently as a chocolate fondue fountain. He selected a table next to the volcano-shaped fountain and settled into one of the faux-aged rattan chairs.

He fished round in his satchel for the book he had started last night, retrieved it, and decided to survey his surroundings before opening it. Six college students argued good-naturedly over a game of Scrabble near the door. One of them, a brunette girl, had a large satchel like his and a jacket with elbow patches. Her friend had a Repo! The Genetic Opera T-shirt on. Over by one of the gas-lit tiki torches sat an older lady with two Dachshunds. A gentleman, likely a teacher, with a greyhound was deeply engrossed in a tattered copy of "The Two Towers".

Then _they _walked out of the Espresso Hut and onto the bamboo-fenced verandah. _She _had red hair that hung in a messy, deep red braid to her waist. She appeared to have hacked off her white cotton maxi-skirt at the knees, judging by the threads hanging from what should have been a hem. He couldn't see her eyes behind giant purple-rimmed sunglasses. The legend "Different" blazed across her chest on a heather-green fitted T-shirt. On her feet were dirty pink low-ride Converses. A collection of brightly-colored bracelets jiggled on her left wrist. A gigantic black leather messenger bag dangled from her left shoulder. He could tell that she was obviously left-handed, maybe even left-side dominant.

But then he noticed the _thing _that followed _her_ out of the Espresso Hut, walking sedately on a handsome brown leather leash and shiny chain collar. He seemed to remember reading about such a creature, when he read "Peter Pan." Yes, Sir Barrie supposedly based the character of Nana off a thing like this! But Spencer Reid had never seen a Landseer in person before. He had never seen any dog so massive!

Its creamy-white coat had patches of grayish-black spattered over it like spilled paint. _She _barely pushed five-foot-three and this animal easily stood with its shoulders, no, withers even with her natural waist. Was it him, or could _she _possibly ride this thing like a small horse! Maybe it was his imagination, or did those paws seem to be the size of his own hands? The college students shrieked with laughter and shielded their Scrabble game from the sweeping tail.

"He's just like Beau!" squealed the girl with the elbow-patch jacket.

But the gigantic animal proceeded behind his human, dripping spit ropes from his enormous lips. Barely looking, _she_ fished a ratty-looking blue-and-white towel from inside the messenger bag and gave the jowls a quick sweep. Then _she _led the horse-dog over to the table directly to the left of Spencer's. _She _set her bag down,tossed her braid over her left shoulder, and sat down. The dog-monster settled at her feet, panting and continuing to drool.

Then _she _looked directly at him. Oh hell! He hadn't realized he had been staring. _She _giggled and stuck her tongue out at him. In spite of himself, he felt his cheeks turn blood-red and he fumbled stupidly with his book. He heard _her _giggle and stared harder at the book in his hands, not really seeing the words. He heard a soft voice say "Stay, sweetie, _stay!_" and he imagined himself with laser beams zapping the book from his eyes.

"So, are you trying to do a Luna Lovegood or do you write in your planner upside-down?"

Then he really felt stupid. Child prodigies did _not _avoid girls by reading their mostly-blank day-planners upside-down! He felt _her_ staring at him and seriously hoped she still had her sunglasses on, because eye contact was not happening. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look up at the newcomer. Damn! _She_ had pushed those crazy sunglasses up on her head. Bright purple eye liner framed the most unique eyes he had ever seen – green with gold-brown centers. _She _tilted her head at him and she looked expectant of a response.

"I… uh… Er…" Spencer stammered, flushing deeper. "I haven't had any coffee today."

It was a lame excuse, but at the moment it was all he had. However, it seemed acceptable to _her_. She yanked the second chair over from the table with her monstrous canine still under it and plopped down. Spencer looked like a cornered animal for a moment – what did _she _want? But she appeared genuinely concerned by his aberrant behavior.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Scared of dogs or something?"

Spencer shook his head mutely. _She _smiled and stuck out a hand with very long fingernails, painted shiny navy blue. He couldn't help noticing her brilliant lipstick, sort of like pink mixed with tangerine orange.

"I'm Dr. Lorraine Quinn!" she introduced herself, giving him a firmer handshake than he would have expected.

"Dr. Spencer Reid," he returned the introduction. "I'm… uh… sorry for staring never seen a dog like that before."

The animal in question lifted its head off its paws and made a snuffling noise in the direction of the nearest humans. Spencer glanced nervously at it. Dr. Quinn smiled even brighter.

"Ah, Hawkeye's just a big baby!" she cooed, looking at the dog instead of Spencer. The giant tail wagged back and forth, whacking the bamboo table legs. "Aren't you mama's baby boy!"

The colossus had no problems brushing furniture aside as he joined his… mama at Spencer's table. Spencer tried his best to surreptitiously scoot his chair backwards, inching towards the fountain. His mind raced madly, trying to think up any excuse to escape the situation. Once again, he felt _her _eyes on him and she again stared in acute concern. The door to the Espresso Hut banged open all of a sudden and a girl with a tray and two cups appeared.

"I've got two Hawai'ian-Slash-Mayan Volcano Mochas?" called miniature Garcia. She held the tray in one hand and twiddled a bleach-blonde curl in the other. Three massive beaded necklaces blended almost undetectably with her loud tiki-print shirt. "One with… oh my god enough sugar and white chocolate to give an elephant diabetes and one… without."

Dr. Quinn's painted talons shot up in the air.

"Elephant diabeetus over here!" she yelled cheerfully. The blonde girl made a beeline for the table that had originally been Spencer's.

* * *

><p>"So wait, she just totally bogarted your table?" demanded Morgan.<p>

"Aww, the waitress looked like me?" squealed Garcia. "That's awesome!"

Spencer glared, having finally got into his stride.

"Do you want to hear what happened or not?"

Hotch cleared his throat, glared, and everyone settled down.

* * *

><p>"So you're the one with… no diabetes?" quipped the waitress, setting the twenty-ounce tiki-print cup in front of Spencer.<p>

He blushed again. Would his face ever be its normal color again?

"No, no thank you," he said, his teeth grinding. "I prefer to sweeten it myself."

The waitress, name-tagged Kiwi, beamed him a "You're welcome – enjoy!" and veritably bounced away. Once again alone with Dr. Quinn, Spencer sipped his drink awkwardly and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The Espresso Hut did not put lids on drinks unless upon request. After swallowing, he set the cup down and wiped the whipped cream off his nose. He tried again to scoot his chair away from the behemoth drooling on his shoes. Dr. Quinn, on the other hand, took another brave stab at conversation, as though nothing was wrong.

"So, where do you practice?" she asked, swiping the whipped cream off her own drink and transferring it to her mouth with one finger. "If you're in that amazing new office park with the restored fountain, I'm jealous!"

Spencer blanched for a moment.

"Oh, no, my doctorates are in mathematics, chemistry and engineering," he said, trying to unclench his jaw. He fished around for something more interesting to say. "What about you?"

"I'm a speech therapist – just went into private practice!" Dr. Quinn replied pleasantly. He figured it fit her. Her diction was just this side of perfect. "My office is like a block over from the new park, but I really want to fix up an old house! You know, get it rezoned and turn it into an office space where I can get Hawkeye into practice as a therapy dog!"

Spencer gulped, wishing an asteroid or Darth Vader or something would just strike him down where he sat. His right sock felt moist and he glared down at the drooling monster.

"If you're a doctor of… multiple stuff, where do you work at?" _She _tilted her head at him again and he got the message that she wanted an answer rather quickly. How was he supposed to tell her this?

"I'm a profiler for the FBI," he said rather flatly, figuring she would immediately get up and leave.

"Really? That's awesome!" she all but yelled – her volume shot up and down in the course of normal conversation in a rather disconcerting way. Was she hearing impaired or something? "What all goes into that? Is it like Silence of the Lambs? I've never seen that and I really don't want to, but I think it's about a profiler."

He was blown away at the amount of words she seemed to be able to expel on one breath.

"Mommy, look at the duck!" a small girl's voice interrupted their conversation and both Spencer and Dr. Quinn turned to look at the child. She smiled back at them, showing missing front teeth, not more than five years old. "Ducky! Look! He's going to land!"

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. As the mallard descended, Spencer felt the large furry body grow tense. Dr. Quinn turned her head to watch the duck fold his wings and aim his behind at the water. The volcano idly spilled water down its sides. It seemed everyone on the porch had stopped at the small girl's announcement to watch the fowl land. Hawkeye, on the other hand, watched closer than anyone.

One Mississippi: the rubbery orange feet touched the rippling surface of the water.

Two Mississippi: Hawkeye's entire body turned hard as a rock.

Three Mississippi: Dr. Quinn's eyes went wide and she started, too late, to reach for Hawkeye's leash.

Three and a half: The giant dog gave Dr. Quinn a look that simply said "I'm sorry, Mama…"

Four Mississippi: The giant dog exploded.

Not literally, but before Spencer knew what was going on, approximately two hundred pounds of dog shot off under his behind. The coffee bounced from his hand and splattered across his chest. He felt something wet hit his trousers as his chair went flying out from under him. Dr. Quinn yelled something indistinguishable and probably profane as she tried again to grab the leash. Spencer managed to roll from the chair before it followed the dog, via the entangled leather strap, into the fountain.

Dead silence followed the explosion, like in all the war movies. People stared at the aftermath of the chaos, unsure of what to do or say. Dr. Quinn had her coffee held protectively to her chest, totally unscathed. The rattan-and-bamboo table lay on its side, one leg at a funny angle. Both chairs had been up-ended. The duck had taken off almost as fast as he had landed and was nowhere to be seen. Hawkeye, too pleased with himself for human description, sat serenely at the base of the volcano, soaking wet and smiling soggily.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry! He never does this!" Dr. Quinn broke the silence in her loudest voice. "Are you hurt? Did you hit your head? Was your coffee too hot? Seriously, are you okay!"

She had gone into panic mode and descended on him with a wad of napkins. He wasn't sure how he felt about her trying to wipe coffee and whipped cream off his person without so much as a "May I help you?" But he didn't stop her either until he got a look at his watch.

"Oh shit!" he yelped. The small girl's mother glared at him and covered the child's ears. Dr. Quinn hopped back as though she might have damaged him further. "No, you're all right, but Hotch is going to murder me if I'm not back in fifteen minutes!"

It was a fifteen-minute walk to the bus stop, he realized. This kind of thing was not something he planned on. Swearing under his breath, he tried to disentangle his long arms and legs from his tipped-over seat. Dr. Quinn hiked her skirt climbed over the chairs, table, and Spencer, trying to coax her dog out of the fountain. The scholarly gentleman set down his copy of "The Two Towers" and strode over to extract Spencer from the mess.

"My son gets into these kinds of messes all the time," the man told him. Then he lowered his voice. "Make sure you get her number."

Spencer's face purpled again and he thanked the man for his help before bending down to retrieve his satchel. His face darkened three more shades as the college students, Scrabble game forgotten, broke down in giggles. Apparently they had ascertained that no real damage had been done, so now the situation was laughable. Grumbles and more profanity accompanied Dr. Quinn's dragging Hawkeye out of the fountain. She was definitely stronger than she looked, but making little progress. However, when Hawkeye noticed Spencer standing up, he leaped gracefully over the rock edge of the fountain. Spencer could swear the dog had given him an evil look just before…

"Hawkeye, no!" yelled Dr. Quinn. "No! No shake! No shake!"

Everyone in a six-foot radius shrieked and tried to cover their clothing. Dr. Quinn rolled her eyes, wiped a few dripping wisps of hair off her face, and swore. The mother of the small girl got up, smacked a lid on her drink, and the two left. Dripping wet, Dr. Quinn grabbed Hawkeye's leash and approached Spencer as though she thought he might hit her.

"I'm really, really sorry about this," she apologized again. She fished through her bag and retrieved a small notebook and a fountain pen. After scribbling something down, she tore out a page and pressed it into Spencer's hand. "Here, call me and I'll pay for your dry cleaning, I swear!"

Spencer saw the Two Towers man chuckling into his book.

"Thank you, but that's really not necessary," he said, pocketing the number anyway. "I just really need to get back to the office. Hotch has no patience for tardiness."

Dr. Quinn looked relieved. Hawkeye panted happily.

"Here, let me drive you," she offered, smiling shyly. "I promise, I'm not a psycho or anything."

Spencer blushed, but at a raised eyebrow from the Tolkien guy, smiled awkwardly.

"You know, that would be great," he accepted as graciously as he could. "Thank you."

Dr. Quinn grinned with genuine relief and told him "My car's this way" as she tugged Hawkeye toward the verandah's gate. The dog made a snuffly "_wuff!_" sound, shook again, and trotted after his human Mama. Spencer followed after standing stunned for a moment. Dr. Quinn chattered in awkward happiness at him and the other patrons watched until they were out of sight. The lady with the Dachshunds leaned over to the Tolkien guy.

"You reckon he noticed her skirt's gone totally see-through?" she asked.

The scholarly gent squinted up the sidewalk.

"That boy? Nah," he said dismissively. "Just like my son. You have to hit 'im over the head with that kind of stuff."

The two of them chuckled.

* * *

><p>"So, are you going to see her again?" Prentiss asked immediately.<p>

"Was the coffee any good?" chirped Garcia.

"Have you still got her number?" inquired JJ.

"Wait, she was wearing a white skirt and you didn't _notice_?" Morgan groaned in dismay.

Rossi just chuckled in a paternal manner.

"Before you ask, yes you can go home and change clothes," Hotch deadpanned, rolling his eyes and trying not to smile.

Reid, his face as close to royal purple as human skin could get, mumbled a "Yes sir, thank you…" as he edged sideways out of the room. He reached into his pocket for his phone, scrolling down to Morgan's number.

"Her… panties… were… lavender…" he texted.


End file.
